


Revived by Death

by JustAJack



Category: jacksepticeye, jacksepticeye egos - Fandom
Genre: ...its plagiarized without my knowladge, Angst, AntiChase, Death, Help how do I tag, I'm adding tags as I go, JustAJack, Sketchy-scribs-n-Doods (on tumblr), So much angst, This is the original of this- if you see it reposted, Well - Freeform, so some tags aren't applicable until later., the AU where Chase becomes Anti
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-05 04:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12182811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAJack/pseuds/JustAJack
Summary: Well, I'd say close your eyes and imagine this, but you kind of have to read this so...Imagine the moments after the Bro Average video.Imagine the good doctor running in, panicked because he heard a gunshot.Imagine the doctor doing everything to revive Chase.Imagine him playing God- cheating death.Imagine, for a moment.Got that? Good.Because what if it's real.Schneeplestein made Anti AUAntiChase AUAngst....so much angst.





	1. Respawn

**Author's Note:**

> For this story, Stacy left before the Bro Average video. Chase just adds in the clips "with" Stacy for drama (if you notice, the phone screen is off in the call with Stacy). Actually, all the clips that aren't trick shots happened previously-Chase adds in "recreations" of the moments that impacted him for his story to be revealed a bit to the viewers. 
> 
> Got it? Good. Enjoy!

Chase wasn't sure why Stacy left, exactly. Or when. Was it after he went out and suddenly news cameras were in his face or before? What were the reporters even asking anyway?  
"Why had he shot them?"  
"Shot who?" He had replied. Chase didn't remember shooting anyone, much less an entire building full of people. The cameramen were lying. He pushed away the press and the flashing lights, returning to what he knew.  
Repetition.  
The days blended together until life was just a cycle. Get up. Make a video or two. Edit. Post one. Sleep. Get up. Over and over again. It was soothing-the comfort of familiarity.  
It was sickening-the constant cycle with nothing changing.  
Chase grew tired of the monotony as time lost all meaning. Day could be night, dusk could be dawn. It didn't matter to him. He slept, he ate, he made a video and edited it. As long as the task was done, time didn't matter.  
He carried a weight in his chest-the strange type that doesn't seem like it's there until it's gone. Stacy took everything from him. His kids, his wife, his happiness. He only had YouTube left and even that was failing him now. His videos were getting less views and more hate.  
Calling him "boring" and "cringy" and "repetitive." He bristled at them all. Didn't they understand that this was his job? His PASSION? He needed the attention to make a living.  
Fine-he'd show them something new. Something exciting. He'd show them his life. That should be interesting, right?  
He went out and bought a gun and a nerf gun. He recreated a phone call with Stacy. He remade the shooting that the media insisted he did. He got a camera man to do the camera work and edit everything. His name was Robin. Hell, he even got Chad to do a clip. If he could call flinging himself into a wall a clip, that is.

It wasn't hard. Guns are so simple in the end. Load a bullet. Click off the safety. Aim.  
Fire.  
Click.  
BOOM.

 

Chase dropped to the ground, crimson flying everywhere. Robin stood in shock before grabbing the camera to show off Chase's body completely.  
He lay in a growing pool of blood, his brains blown out by the very real bullet. He showed his viewers "different" and "new" and certainly not "boring." Not by a long shot.  
A man ran in at the gunshot, white coat flapping behind him. He called himself a doctor, insisting on taking Chase away. Numbly, Robin agreed, shutting down the camera.  
He had a job to do anyway. He was paid by Chase to edit and he wasn't about to drop the job.

**

The doctor strapped Chase's body to a metal table, tying him down with leather straps. He muttered to Chase throughout the process.  
"It will be ok"  
"Don't worry, I will save you."  
His voice lilted, carrying the tones of a very German accent. He was mildly deranged with his movements- almost jerky and ragged. Like a camera with the shutter set too slowly to capture moments right after each other.  
Electrodes were hooked up to Chase, their wires trailing off into the ceiling. An IV needle was slipped into a hand, dripping in a green-tinged liquid. A monitor showed the heartbeat...well, lack thereof. The doctor picked up a needle filled with a silvery colour then shocked the body, hoping to stimulate a heartbeat.  
A blip appeared on the screen before going flat again.  
The doctor tried again.  
And again.  
And again.  
And again.  
And again.  
And again.  
And well into the night to the point where there were burn marks from the electrodes and the sun was rising through the window.  
Before finally, finally, the blip stayed.  
That was well good and all, but the brain was still dead. So the doctor went about fixing that.  
A partial transplant would do, right?

**

Chase first noticed the gentle light against a dusty ceiling. He had gone to Heaven? After what he did?  
Impossible.  
Yet...here he was. Afraid to move because he didn't want to face whatever the afterlife held. He was pretty sure it wouldn't be good.  
His alarm clock beeped rhythmically, but he made no move to turn it off. Chase closed his eyes again and breathed in deeply. Heaven smelled sweet, like spoiled candy. Sweet, with a certain sickly scent to it. Like the candy was too sweet and it became bitter instead.  
A voice cleared their throat and Chase opened his eyes again, hazarding to look up.  
"Hello, Chase." He spoke. He was standing in the sunlight, his features hidden by the bright light. But that voice...Chase would know it anywhere. The name danced around the corners of his mind, staying tantalizingly out of reach.  
"Who are you?" He whispered. The doctor couldn't be dead. His alarm clock beeped faster.  
"Hmm? I am Doctor Schneeplestien." He said gently, as if Chase was a dream and speaking loudly would frighten him away.  
"Where are we?" Chase asked.  
"My lab."  
"Am I dead?"  
"You were." Schneep allowed, deflating in the sunlight.  
"What did you do?"  
"I brought you back. I saw, Chase. I saw what you did. I...I couldn't allow it. So I brought you back."  
Chase went silent and sighed, finally trying to move before finding he couldn't.  
"Why am I tied down?"  
"I didn't know what would happen."  
"So this is the first time you've done this?"  
"Yes." Schneep whispered before walking over to where Chase lay on the table. He slowly undid the straps with shaky hands and numb fingers, fumbling with each strip of leather.  
Chase huffed in annoyance at the slow pace and angry at the fact that he had to be tied down in the first place. Pissed about the fact that he had gotten what he wanted only to have the doctor rip it away. He took something away from Chase, just like everyone else had. Once the straps were gone, Chase ripped off the electrodes, the IV falling out, and stalked off. A faint green whisper trailed after him, stuttering before vanishing completely.


	2. Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the angst.
> 
> I think I should be done in one or two more parts.

Walking down the hallway, Chase ran over the full list of what he had lost.  
His wife. His kids. His Youtube channel- no way could he go back if people thought he was dead.  
His friends. Everyone.  
And his chance at death. Even Schneep managed to take that away from him. Chase growled at the thought, letting his anger fester. Good. Feeling angry was better than nothing at all. He let the burning rage take over and fill him with something besides empty numbness. His first day out of the cycle and he hates everything already.  
Movement caught his eye and he turned to face it, surprised that it was his own hand trailing along the wall. Funny.  
He couldn't feel it. He didn't even realize he was doing it.  
He couldn't feel the smooth-yet-bumpy texture of the wall beneath his fingertips, the tingling from running his hand along the wall for so long. He couldn't feel the wind against his face, or in his hair or clothes. He couldn't feel the pressure of the floor against his feet. In fact, if Chase really thought about it, he couldn't feel anything at all.  
He was simply a brain inhabiting a dead shell of a person.  
Hating the fact even more, he dropped his hand from the wall and stormed on with no destination in mind except for away from the doctor who took everything away.  
The anger grew until it flipped in on itself. It became something else, something besides anger.  
Clarity, maybe?  
Or perhaps just pain.  
A searing pain, actually.  
Chase's previously dead nerves caught fire, sending him to his knees with pain. The world turned a sickly green before flickering to a black and back again, as if someone had suddenly turned on a strobe light and disco lights at the same time. His vision went sideways as the world continued to shift colours constantly. A high pitched ringing sounded from somewhere far away. Someone was shouting and screaming, yet the pitch never stayed the same. It jumped from being impossibly deep to higher than a songbirds whistle.  
The world started to break apart and Chase frantically grabbed at air to keep it all together. As if by his hand alone, he could keep the universe from breaking apart. Static flashed across his vision, squares of blankness where there should be floor, or wall, or ceiling. Just... nothing. As if the universe fell apart around Chase and he was just lying there and taking it because there was nothing else he could do.

He tried calling for help from someone, anyone, before realizing that he couldn't.  
He was already screaming. Something like tears fell from his eyes as he curled up on his side and waited for the pain to stop. Or his life.  
Chase didn't feel the needle go in. He didn't feel the fluid move in his veins and slowly make its way towards his heart. He didn't feel someone's hand on his shoulder. He didn't hear the "It's ok" and "I got you"'s coming from someone's mouth. He didn't heard the sigh of relief from a voice besides his own. He didn't see that his tears weren't tears, but a black tar tinged red with blood. He might as well have been dead. 

He just passed out without seeing, without hearing, without feeling and without care.

**

The alarm clock was back, and beeping as ferociously as ever. God, would someone shut it off? The noise was like a power drill to the brain.  
The same dusty ceiling met his eyes and Chase groaned, his voice hoarse from shouting.  
Here he was again. Strapped to a table and scrutinized under the doctors vicious glare. He have broken one cycle to just to wake up in another. Even death wasn't an escape now- the doctor would just bring him back. Because God forbid he was allowed to Rest In Peace.  
"Ah! I see you are up." Schneep's voice exclaimed happily.  
Chase turned his head away and stared at the wall, finding that it was equally dusty when compared to the ceiling.  
The small pinprick in his hand hooked him up to an IV drip. Funny- he could feel the needle in his skin. Unlike before when the entire world was numb to his touch.  
"Why..." Chase started before clearing his throat. "Why can I feel it?" He asked, lifting his hand with the drip.  
"What do you mean?"  
"Why can I feel the needle? I couldn't before." Chase whispered, his voice raspy and quiet. His words possessed a certain edge to them, though. A certain knife driving them through the doctors brain.  
"Can you feel anything?" Schneep finally asked after a long pause.  
"No."  
Schneeplestein bit his lip before simply taking Chase's temperature. As if he had nothing else to do to fill the silence. Chase let the silence grow, hoping to gain some form of answer out of the doctor. But if Schneep knew, he wasn't telling the man who lay before him.  
Because Chase Brody was dead, and whoever wore his face now wasn't him.

Chase clenched his fist tightly, forcing he IV out and sat up. He wasn't restrained this time, either out of panic or out of trust he couldn't tell.

**

After the first "fracture" Chase had come to know them all to well. He didn't know why the universe fell apart at his touch. He didn't know why others looked up at him with something like fear. He didn't know. Simple as that.  
He walked down the hallway, numb to everything around him. A tension build up inside him, like a snake ready to lash out. Everything coiled up and ready to strike. Chase tried to resist it, tried to relax but he couldn't. His head jerked painfully to one side and he grit his teeth to keep from crying out. Best to not wake up in he "good" doctors room. Again. The world flickered again, tinging everything in a sickly shade of green.  
He slowly made his way towards his room, leaning against the wall for support. His laptop was flipped open and it's motors whirred, spitting out hot air into the small space. Chase huffed in annoyance and went to flip the lid down before realizing that YouTube was pulled up.  
Then he realized that it was on his channels page.  
Then he realized that Chase Brody, the man who had killed himself on camera was getting more attention than any of his other videos.  
All this popularity, out of nowhere. All these people asking if he was ok, and was this all editing, and oh god please let Chase be ok.  
It was sickening. So only death could get attention.  
Fine.  
Death it is then.

Chase clicked onto his creators channel, staring at the thumbnails in disgust. He let anger take control again, sinking into the heat and power of the emotion.

How dare Jack.  
How dare Jack make him in a failing marriage.  
How dare Jack make him just a side character.  
How dare Jack smile and laugh when Chase just killed himself.  
How dare Jack be allowed to make all these people happy while Chase was struggling to make it big.  
How.  
Dare.  
He.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this feels trip! Blame Sketches-scribbls-n-doods on tumblr for it. They got me into the AU.  
> IDK WHOS AU THIS IS BUT JUST LOOK UP THE "AntiChase" TAG. ITS A FEELS TRIP THAT HITS LIKE A TRUCK.
> 
>  
> 
> ḯღ øηʟ¥.ʝʊ∀⊥ ℊε⊥⊥ḯηℊ.﹩⊥∀я⊥ε∂  
> ;3


	3. Chrysalis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait.  
> Have some angst.

The painful spasms grew more consistent, appearing more and more in Chase's day. And try as he might to resist it every time, his muscles tensed before releasing like a tightly coiled spring. It hurt like hell, but now this? This was nothing compared to the first time. He had developed a certain numbness to any outside feeling. To any outside emotion.  
Chase pushed away everyone, preferring to be alone and glare in at Jack through the screen. Why should the others care if he was essentially dead already? The doctor didn't trust him anymore. Why should Chase trust himself? Why should Jack be allowed to make all those people smile when he created Chase as a side character? Didn't he realize that Chase had the exact same needs? He needed attention to survive. He needed the fans to make a living. He needed them. Period.  
A flash of static flickered on the edges of his vision, threatening to overtake the pinprick of clarity in his world. It would have to be some sort of cosmic joke for the universe to take away his vision of all things. Just when he thought he had nothing left to lose, something new came up.  
Great. Lost everything but himself, and even that wasn't one-hundred percent him anymore.  
A thought marched across his mind and he pushed it away. As tempting as it was to kill Jack outright for everything he put Chase through, it was better to test the waters with what he could do.

As of now, the glitching came and went however the fuck it pleased- if anything, it seemed intent on making Chase feel something.  
Pain.  
He huffed in annoyance, gritting his teeth through it all. Reality fractured before righting itself again in one loud snap. Chunks of wall and floor floated away from where they originally were, the empty gaps filled with static and the smell of ozone. And for the first time, Chase tried to control the glitch. He moved a segment of floor around, manipulating it, shifting it. Changing where it was and how it looked. He smirked. He tried controlling two at the same time. Then three. Then four. Until Chase was controlling every section in the room and shifting where it was. Before everything snapped back into place and the clocked ticked on. He hadn't even realized it stopped. Chase collapsed on his bed from exhaustion, his laptop spitting out Jacks toxic words to the masses. Jack was a virus, spewing out smiles and laughter to people who didn't deserve it. Fine. If Jack was the virus, Chase would be the anti virus. The world tipped sideways before the static and darkness overtook his vision. Hurried footsteps echoed in the hall before he fell unconscious.

**

Stupid fucking alarm clocks. Chase blinked, confused and woozy from sleep and pain. He looked up. Dusty ceiling. "Schneep?" Chase asked. "What happened?" The doctor folded in on himself, reluctant to give anything more to this creature he created. Chase knew. But whatever this was? Whoever this was- didn't know or care about the answer to any question. "Marvin found you passed out on the floor. He couldn't pick you up, so I had Robbie do it. He could touch you, so he put you on a stretcher and I brought you here." The doctor said softly. "Why Robbie? Why not you?" "I don't know...but if you feel ok, you can go." Chase nodded, scooting off the table. He remained in the room though. Poking through shelves and information. Whenever he passed by any form of machinery, it glitched, flickering out with the pop-snap sound of static.

Chase wore a small smirk on his face, testing his control over the glitching and at the "good" doctors reaction to breaking his equipment. 

Punish him. He deserved it. They all deserved it. Because fuck everyone. Everyone made his life hell, not giving him what he needed. Fuck Jack for making him a failure. Fuck the doctor for taking everything away.

They had to pay for it all. They HAD to.

 

On instinct, Chase's hand snapped out towards the tray of tools. His fingers closed around a scalpel and he stuttered, his image flickering, before appearing in front of the doctor. Chase pressed the blade against the others neck, dragging across the skin and staining the doctors coat a bright crimson. The blood seeped through the white fabric, the colour curling in on itself and drying slowly. Chase stepped away, letting the body fall to the ground with a harsh thug and a rustle of fabric. Blood pooled beneath the corpse and threatened to stain Chases shoes.

"✺ℵḙ ᖱ✺ωℵ" he whispered to himself with a growing smirk before stepping away slowly, the scalpel landing on the ground with a hollow ting.


	4. Instability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya guys! 
> 
> So- trigger warnings: knives, blood, needles, and torture (tho not intense).
> 
> I figured I'd put this here because I don't want to upset some peeps. That being said, I hope you enjoy this!

Chase's footsteps echoed in the empty halls, the soft scrape of a knife accompanying it. He seemed serene, happy, almost. As if he didn't just kill someone. As if he wasn't leaving bloodied footprints behind him. As if he wasn't holding a knife.   
Slowly, he made his way towards Jack's room, door barely creaking as he slipped inside. Out of frame of the ever-watching camera. God, he hated that thing. The red light was blinking though Jack wasn't in the room. Stepped out, it seemed.  
Chase scowled at the camera, flipping it off before sliding behind and knocking it off the tripod and onto the floor below. He sneered at the shattered plastic and twisted mess of electronics on the cold tile.   
Try and record face-cam now, you bitch.  
Chase's form snapped cruelly to the side and the universe fell apart as the wooden door creaked open. Sliding among the broken pieces of reality and the static feeling of the void, Chase slipped behind Jack just as he started recording again. He didn't notice the missing camera or shattered plastic on he floor.  
"ℵ✺т ᾰ ω✺Իᖱ" Chase hissed, pressing the back of the knife against Jack's throat, the sharp edge facing out.   
The last piece of the shattered world fell back into place as the camera fixed itself and fell in reverse, the mess of plastic untwisting itself and returned to the tripod. The lens flickered on and Chade could see his reflection in the glass. His grin splitting his face in two and his face hidden by the shadows in the room. Jacks eyes wide with fear, skin as white as paper as he sat in his chair and took it all in.  
"C-Chase?" The Irishman stammered out despite the threat looming over him. But despite the murderous intent glinting in his eye, something was missing. "Where's your hat?"  
"⑂✺ṳ ᖱ✺ℵт ṳℵᖱḙԻṧтᾰℵᖱ, ᖱ✺ ⑂✺ṳ? ℘ᾰтℏḙт!ḉ. ⑂✺ṳ Պᾰᖱḙ Պḙ. ᾰℵᖱ ⑂✺ṳ ᖱḙṧ!❡ℵḙᖱ Պḙ ω!тℏ тℏḙ !ℵтḙℵт!✺ℵ ✺ḟ ḟᾰ!ℓṳԻḙ." Chase spat out. "ᖱ✺ℵт ᖱḙℵ⑂ !т ḙ!тℏḙԻ. Պ⑂ ℓ!ḟḙ ℘Ի✺✺ṽḙṧ !т, ♩ᾰḉк." His voice warbled. As if there was someone else was saying the same words as Chase but a second too slow. As if there was another voice coming out of one mouth.  
Jack paled further, realizing his error with Chase and hissing at the pain as the knife pressed against his skin. It didn't draw blood...yet.  
"⑂✺ṳ ṧт✺℘℘ḙᖱ ℘ᾰ⑂!ℵ❡ ᾰттḙℵт!✺ℵ. ! ℏ✺℘ḙ ⑂✺ṳԻḙ ℏᾰ℘℘⑂, ℵ✺ω. ṧ✺, ℓḙтṧ ḉᾰℓℓ ᾰ ṧ℘ᾰᖱḙ ᾰ ṧ℘ᾰᖱḙ. ᾰℓℓ ! ḙṽḙԻ ᾰṧкḙᖱ ḟ✺Ի ωᾰṧ ᾰттḙℵт!✺ℵ ᾰℵᖱ ℓ✺ṽḙ. ♭ṳт ✺ḟ ḉ✺ṳԻṧḙ, ⑂✺ṳ ℏᾰᖱ т✺ тᾰкḙ тℏᾰт ᾰωᾰ⑂ ḟԻ✺Պ Պḙ." Chase paused for a moment before flipping the knife around, pressing the blade into Jack's neck with a renowned vigor. "⑂✺ṳ.т✺✺к ḙṽḙԻ⑂тℏ!ℵ❡, ♩ᾰḉк. !Պ ♩ṳṧт ԻḙтṳԻℵ!ℵ❡ тℏḙ ḟᾰṽ✺ṳԻ." Chase spat.   
The knife pressed into the pale skin beneath, spreading a deep scarlet colour everywhere. Not unlike the red of a poppy flower. It seeped everywhere.   
Into the seams of the chair. Into the floor. Into Chase's hands.   
And the best part? Jack wasn't dead yet. The cut was shallow, just missing his esophagus. And simply through sheer stubbornness, the Irishman clung to life.  
"ℵ✺т ❡✺ℵḙ ⑂ḙт ! ṧḙḙ. ! ḉᾰℵ ℏᾰṽḙ ṧ✺Պḙ ḟṳℵ ω!тℏ тℏ!ṧ тℏḙℵ." Chase mused, pulling the knife back. He let the blood drip as he brought it to his mouth, licking the scarlet off the blade before staring down at his new toy.   
"ḟ!Իṧ тℏ!ℵ❡ṧ ḟ!Իṧт- !тṧ ℵᾰ℘т!Պḙ, ♩ᾰḉкᾰ♭✺⑂."

**

The room was dark, dirty, and dusty. Not to mention it spelled like rust and copper pennies. A wooden chair was placed in the center of the room, bolted to the floor. A figure sat in it, bound up with ropes and handcuffs, a blindfold and gag topping everything off.  
"Now I'll let you guess why you're here, Jack." Chase sneered, circling the chair like a predator toying with its food. Jack bucked against the restraints, screaming around the gag.  
"Ah. My mistake. I forgot about that part." Chase whispered before undoing the gag and pressing a needle into Jacks neck. He quickly pushed the plunger down, releasing the clear liquid into the Irishmans system.  
"Just a little something to calm you down." He said quietly, his tone too gentle to be honest. It was the threatening type of calm, the tone of voice too deceitful and too unsettling to be telling the truth.  
"W-why, Chase?" Jack slurred out.  
"Chase Brody had been dead for a long time, Jack. Try again." He snapped, screaming in Jacks face. The world came undone again, fragmenting at Chase's command. Glass shattered inwards, as if there was an implosion. The shards hung suspended in the air. Time had stopped for them, the universe mulling over its decision before unspooling itself at Chase's hand. He closed his hand into a fist, the glass coming within an inch of Jack, one shard brushing against his unhealed neck.  
Jack flinched away from the pain, the cuffs rattling with his movements. Deep down, he knew 'why.' There was just something sweeter about denying the truth. Like a bittersweet lemon drop.  
His mind supplied him with a different question.   
"Fine then. How?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)
> 
> This series should be done within one more chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> тω✺ ᖱ✺ωℵ


	5. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the final chapter. I'm sorry for the wait, but I think you'll find it's worth it.
> 
> Trigger warnings include: graphic violence, mentions of self harm (cutting), and mentions of suicide.

'How' is such a funny word when you think about it. It can ask so many things, so many questions with just three letters. In all honesty, 'how' really asks 'what happened.'  
Sighing, Chase simply answered the word with "You" and left Jack guessing as to where he fucked up.   
"That doesn't make any sense." Jack forced out, his movements and words sluggish, laden with sedatives.  
"It's the truth, Jack. Take it or leave it. ⑂✺ṳ are the reason behind this all." Chase hissed. The knife slammed into the wood near the Irishmans hand with a thud, wobbling as the point slowly dug itself into the armrest.   
As Jack looked up through glassy eyes, the figure in front of him stuttered. His form shifted slightly as if he was moving too fast for the universe to keep up. A high pitched ringing filled the air, too faint to be prominent yet too loud to go unheard. It smelled of ozone as static crackled through the atmosphere as if there was a lightning storm bottled up in the room with the two men.   
As the static and white noise faded away, "What are you going to to?" stuttered it's way out of Jack's mouth.  
"тᾰкḙ ♭ᾰḉк ḙṽḙԻ⑂тℏ!ℵ❡ тℏᾰт ⑂✺ṳ т✺✺к ḟԻ✺Պ Պḙ." Chase hissed lowly. He took the knife from the wood and gently ran his fingers over the the blade, contemplating what to do for a moment.   
The moment wasn't very long as the knife quickly cut through the air and buried itself into Jack. Chase laughed, yanking the blade out before stabbing it back again.   
Red patterned his face, his clothes, his body as he laughed through it all. It dripped onto the floor and created lakes and rivers in the cracks on the floor. It seeped into the wood, staining it a deep ruby colour. Even when the madness subsided and the red slowed to a halt, Chase still felt off.   
Like he didn't get what he wanted. Like Jack was still alive and tormenting him. Faces still echoed in his head but no emotions came along with them.   
The scared man in the crown, shaking a little girl. Her dress was stained red.  
A teenager staring in shock at her friend when red decorated her back.  
A baby screaming.  
The alabaster pallor of a little boy screaming as his mother to get up.  
The shock and hatred that the doctor wore as he was killed with his own tools.  
The blandness of the zombie as fire licked at his clothes.  
The tears from the hero and the magician as red stained their stomachs.  
The drugged and sluggish expression of the Irishman.  
Chase shrugged them all off, abandoning Jacks body in the room still tied up and dripping red.  
He got what he wanted. He got back at everyone who took something from him. He sat down on the floor, his hands staining this one as well. He waited for the pride to come rushing in. For the emotional high and euphoria of achievement. For anything.

But nothing came and he was still sitting there, feeling emptier than before. Hollow. Incomplete. Reality detached itself from him and he floated in a fog of numbness.  
He pressed his fingers over the knife- hard enough to draw blood- in an attempt to feel something. Anything.  
It didn't work, and he moved it to his arms, his legs, his stomach in desperation and madness. Nothing worked.

So he moved it to his neck.  
And slept happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wEll tHAT WAS A RIDE.   
> I'm sorry if I've deeply hurt any of you, past the angst level. 
> 
> If I hit you in your feelies- then good. That was my intent. >:D
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this series, and I'll catch ya later! *waves* cya in the next story!


End file.
